The Anatomy of Falling Apart

They say that the world works in mysterious ways.

No one has really understand those ways nor identified them, and no one ever will. The earth works in a way that even the sharpest minds and the smartest humans could never comprehend.

I've always been fascinated with the way the world works. How does the world not fall apart and crumble, metaphorically speaking? How has fear been created in the world, and how has hope been created? Questions about the earth's ways of being had always snapped into my mind. I had never known why until I had met the boy.

***

It had been raining, once again, on the first day of me finally going back go school. I had been absent for a while, my parents unknowing of it, and I knew as soon as they had found out I had ditched school to stay home and smoke would leave them to most likely kill me. They'd be back any day now, from the cruise they had gone on for their anniversary, and I was home, ditching school and smoking, while trying to keep my little brother out of the way.

I laid in bed for a while, the irritating sound of the alarm clock next to my bed ringing in my ears and pounding my eardrums. The blank, white ceiling had drawn me to stare emotionless as it as I tried to forget that I had to return to school soon. The beeping had finally stopped due to the off button being pushed by my brother, who was fully dressed and standing by my bed.

"Gerard, what in God's name are you doing?" Mikey asks, pushing the alarm clock to the side of the table and hitting the lamp next to it. "We're going to be late for school. Remember, Mom and Dad will be home this afternoon so you CAN'T be late for coming home. Got it?" He chirps, walking over to my blinds and yanking them open.

"Shit, Mikey," I hiss, shielding my eyes from the burning sunlight.

Mikey snaps his head towards me and stares his hazel eyes into mine. He's plastered a dead serious look onto his plastic face. "Don't curse."

I lift my hands in surrender, and sit up in my bed. I stretch, pulling my elbow over my head and rolling my legs all about the bed. As I move my left leg, a tube-like object simulates pain into my thigh. Rolling over on my stomach, I reach for the object and grasp it. The familiar feeling of holding it gives me such pleasure and joy again, but the bottle reminds me of the bad times.

Who knew that those bad times were still happening now?

"What's that in your hand, Gerard?" Mikey questions, a puzzled look engulfing his facial features as he walked toward me with consent. I push myself back onto the headboard of my bed and shield Mikey from seeing the bottle.

"It's nothing," I reply, trying to filter a nonchalant tone into my voice. Mikey steps closer, clearly not buying my fake answers. Mikey gets closer and closer, making my stomach twist tighter as he got closer.

"Mikey, it's nothing!" I yell, pushing him away from me. He stumbles back, falling into my closet door behind him, and a loud SMACK! emits itself from Mikey's direction. I lean my head against the backboard, already feeling the remorse from hurting Mikey. I look at him, lying dazed in a heap of himself and a few dirty outfits, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I'll regret this.

I pull the bottle out from behind me, feeling it's now-warm amber liquid as memories came back to me. Drinking this had made my times good. Smoking and drinking with your friends was all a 16 year old could dream of. I had done it, knowing the harsh consequences anyway. I lean over to my side table and smash the top of the bottle of alcohol on the end so that the top comes off, and now there is nothing to separate me from the dangerous liquor. I look at Mikey again, then at the bottle. To my surprise, I grip the bottle and slowly let the amber liquid fall down my throat.

I had let the bad stuff win.